Chapter 5. Lex
Dinner was a cheery affair. For the rest of my family, at least.
I, however, had started to feel the prickle of dread skitter over me in anticipation of going to meet my grandmother. While my grandmother was loving, kind, and doting usually, tonight, I would be addressing her as the head of the coven.
I would be treated as any other wayward witch in the coven, our blood ties set aside for the evening.
Finally, my mom escorted me the short distance to my grandma’s house. Each house in the coven was different, molded by the magic within. We passed houses that looked like they’d been pulled straight from a suburbia catalog, chalets, log cabins, and gothic houses that looked like the Addams family resided within.
My grandmother’s home resembled a Victorian London townhouse. It looked like it should have been nestled between a continuous block of identical, red-bricked houses, but it sat solitary, tall, narrow, and reaching for the stars .
The acid green door swung open the moment our feet touched the first step, welcoming us into the narrow hallway.
“Come in,” my grandmother’s voice echoed from deep within the house. The door to the left slowly swung open, revealing a dark room bathed in swaths of velvet and sheer material from floor to ceiling. Hundreds of candles flickered, reflecting off the massive crystal ball in the center of the room, making it look like it might combust at any moment.
Grandma sat on an ornately carved black chair, her face impassive. A necklace of bones and twigs hung down her chest, clashing with her floral blouse and bright white apron. She held her cane by her side, carved into the shape of a snake with bright ruby eyes that bore into me.
“Alexis Cole.” Her voice was steely and bore no resemblance to the grandmother that would sneak me cookies before mealtimes. “You have performed a hex on a mortal and will be judged by your peers in four nights’ time. Until then, you will perform no magic.” Her cane clashed to the ground, and it felt like cold water had been thrown over me, prickling all over my body as I felt the last wisps of magic fade. “You will not leave the confines of the coven.” Her cane cracked against the hardwood floor once more. “And you will write your confession, as is our way.” The cane clattered a final time, and a black, leather book appeared on Grandma’s knee.
She picked it up and flicked through it. Voice back to her usual doting self, she cooed, “Oh! Look at this. Only thirty pages, sweetie. Not too bad at all.”
Thirty pages (technically sixty, as it was front and back) wasn’t too bad, but the most I’ d had to physically write out since high school was my name at the bottom of Yuletide cards. I would definitely be sporting carpal tunnel by the time the trial came about.
Grandma pulled the bone necklace off over her silver bob, dropping it unceremoniously onto the chair behind her. She gracefully made her way over to me, her cane an accessory as opposed to an actual walking aid.
Grandma threw her arms over me, planting a wet kiss on my cheek. “It’s good to have you back, dear. Even given the circumstances. Now, your mother tells me you’re looking for a place to stay?”
“Yes, Grandma,” I said, my eyes unconsciously glancing up in the direction of the room I would stay in when I slept over.
Grandma chuckled, pushing the leather notebook into one of my hands, an ancient, blackened key into the other. “I have somewhere else in mind.”
***
The house was... abandoned.
Like, long time abandoned.
The floorboards creaked as I walked through the hallway and into the ancient kitchen, the house assessing my every move. Stacks of dusty books littered the old farmhouse-style table. The kitchen cabinets looked to be at least a hundred years old, hand carved and stained by time. The countertop was a single sheet of copper, peppered with patina and oddly beautiful. This was not the kind of house I’d ever be able to conjure from my imagination, but as I ran my finger over the worktop, tapping my fingertips lightly off the huge ceramic sink, I instantly fell in love.
Heat bloomed in the room, swirling around me, and I knew the feeling was mutual.
“We’ve left you some supplies, dear, and the house will provide the rest.”
“Thank you, Grandma,” I said, bidding my voice not to crack.
“That’s okay, dear,” she said, cupping my cheek. She glanced over my shoulder at an ancient cuckoo clock on the wall. “Dearie me! Look at the time! Almost three hours to midnight!”
I felt my lips purse, knowing exactly what Grandma was about to ask me.
She dropped her hand and casually walked to the door, feigning interest in the stacks of books she passed, before turning to me and asking nonchalantly, “Will you be partaking in the Samhain summoning this evening, dear?”
The house creaked and groaned with excitement.
“You know I won’t, Grandma.”
The cool air of disappointment swirled around my ankles.
“Ah,” she said, her face dropping slightly. “Well, I guess that’s that, then.”
“ Mm-hmm ,” I mused.
“Anyway, dear, you have a lot to get done before the trial.” Her eyes flicked to the leather notebook. “Goodnight.”
***
I spent just over an hour procrastinating and exploring the house. The living room was dominated by a huge stone fireplace, a garland of autumnal leaves and berries atop the mantle, pumpkins of varying sizes littering the ground around it. The house, surprisingly, had electricity. I spied a few old paint-encrusted sockets around, but it seemed to enjoy the authenticity of candlelight instead.
Four bedrooms were nestled upstairs, and after a quick glance in each of them, I naturally settled for the biggest room as my own. It had an en suite, which was shared with the adjacent room, complete with an avocado toilet, sink, and bath.
The main bathroom was at the other end of the landing, nestled between the two smallest rooms. While this bathroom was decidedly less garish, with a white cast-iron bath and mosaic floor tiles, the avocado one would do me just fine.
When I finally cleared enough clutter off the kitchen table to make space for my notebook, a little candle on a black, cast-iron holder appeared beside me, as did a chewed-up ballpoint pen.
“Thank you,” I said to the house, and the flame flickered merrily in response. I began the arduous task of writing down every minute interaction with Chad that had led up to the incident of the hex. It was slow and laborious, and my wrist ached by the time I finally set the pen down. Five pages. That was all I’d managed in two effing hours.
I rubbed my wrist and straightened in the chair, feeling an ache in my lower back. Stretching, cringing at the series of pops in my back, I decided to sit down on the plush couch with the intention of watching Netflix on my phone as there was no TV in this house.
The cuckoo clock read 11:55 p.m. as I made my way into the living room. I wondered how many witches would be doing the summoning this evening. It had always been exciting over the few days after Samhain to look out for new faces in the coven.
As I settled into the couch, I let out an involuntary moan. It might have been scruffy and threadbare in some places, but it had to be singularly the most comfortable couch I’d ever sat on.
“I bet you’ve seen your fair share of summonings,” I said to the house.
In answer, the fire roared in the hearth, and a large, black cauldron with a crack on the rim appeared out of thin air.
“I will not be summoning a sex demon tonight,” I said, a finality to my tone.
In response, a stream of warm water squirted out of the cauldron, landing directly on my chest.
“What was that for?” I said, jumping to my feet and rubbing my chest furiously. The cauldron squirted at me again, but I managed to avoid it. “Oh, ha ha,” I said sarcastically. “Nice euphemism, House.”
The herbs drying from the ceiling rafters rustled, and a small rose quartz appeared on the mantelpiece. The sneaky house! It was trying none too subtly to convince me to do the ritual. All it would take would be to drop my favorite herbs and spices, along with the rose quartz, into the cauldron as the clock struck midnight.
“No,” I said sternly to the house. “Back off.”
The house seemed to sigh. Whether through disappointment or guilt at trying to pressure me, I couldn’t tell.
I chose to believe the latter, for a moment later, the cauldron had disappeared, and the kettle whistled from the kitchen.
“Apology tea?” I asked, and the whistle became louder.
I crossed into the kitchen and ran my hands over the cups hanging under the cupboard. My fingers clasped around a pretty little china teacup with a chip in the rim. I placed it in front of the kettle, and the cupboard door above me swung open. My grandma’s idea of supplies was an entire cupboard dedicated to tea. Unsurprising, as it was a witch’s favorite brew.
My nails clink ed on the glass as I ran my fingers over the jars, checking the cardboard tags for the contents. I really should have gone for a lavender and chamomile based one to help induce sleep—Goddess knew I would need the rest if I was ever going to finish the notebook. Instead, I settled on my favorite tea, a blend of cinnamon, cloves, and orange rind. I tipped a healthy measure into the tea strainer and poured the hot water over it. The spices filled my nostrils, and a deep feeling of home settled into my bones.
“Thank you,” I said to the house as I made my way back into the living room. I took a deep swig of the tea before setting it down on the side table and pulled out my phone, making quick work of searching for the Netflix app.
The midnight bell tolled from somewhere deep in the heart of the village, matched by the trill of the cuckoo clock in the kitchen. Smiling, and settled, I reached out to grab my cup of tea, but my fingers were met with empty air. I glanced down at the side table, confused. The cup of tea wasn’t there.
Flicking my eyes over the room, I finally spied it on the stone hearth. The rose quartz glinted mischievously above it, and my stomach dropped.
“Oh no you don’t!” I warned the house, standing up and holding a cautionary hand out. I was taking a step forward when a number of things happened simultaneously and in painfully slow motion.
A crack echoed from one of the shelves, and a glass jar full of marbles that I hadn’t noticed before broke open, the balls of glass clattering to the floor and spreading in all directions. I couldn’t seem to stop my already descending foot from standing on a concentrated pool of said marbles before I was cartoon-like stumbling toward the fireplace, automatically reaching out for the mantelpiece to steady myself. I managed to grasp hold of the soot-stained oak, saving my face from connecting with the wall, but inadvertently shook it, causing the rose quartz to teeter. I managed to reach out, just as the quartz began its descent toward my cup of tea—tea made from my favorite blend of herbs—but it was too late. The quartz slipped through my fingers and landed with a soft plop .
Shadows erupted from the cup, coiling around me before pooling on the couch.
“What have you done?” I hissed at the house as the final coo died from the clock in the kitchen.
I turned to glare at the shadow smoke that was clearing from the form on the couch. The outline of heavy, black shadow wings, one slightly crooked, was the last to disappear and—
Wow .
I mean, I knew sex demons were all devastatingly beautiful. But this one, he looked as if he’d been crafted from my wildest dreams.
His dark hair was long on top and cropped at the sides, revealing a thick scar that ran across his temple and toward the base of his skull. His face was chiseled, and he dressed surprisingly casually for a demon whose sole purpose was seduction.
His angular jaw was clean shaven, and something in his thick neck pulsed as he turned his violet eyes toward me.
Heat pooled in my innards, and I resisted the urge to reach up and fix my hair, which was surely sticking out at ridiculous angles in its messy bun.
Holy fuck, I was in trouble.
My unwanted sex demon was hot as hell.